


Rooms By The Hour

by Bagheera



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fisting, Gun Kink, Handcuffs, M/M, Marking, Multi, Object Insertion, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Submission, Tattoos, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 01:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheera/pseuds/Bagheera
Summary: One night while Nate is crashing at Hotel Rexford, a john walks into the wrong room and mistakes him for one of the Goodneighbor prostitutes. Nate never corrects the mistake. It becomes a habit.(Another kink meme repost.)





	Rooms By The Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags on this one, and consider them warnings. SoSu engages in some massively stupid and unsafe sex practices here, and Hancock cheerfully enables him. 
> 
> This was originally written in 2016 as a response to a kink meme prompt.

Nate felt a little bit guilty – not about the chems or the insultingly tiny amount of caps he’d accepted from the last visitor or even ditching Nick at the Memory Den with a flimsy excuse about some errands he needed to run tonight. He was pretty sure that Nick wasn’t fooled by the lie – he was simply too tactful to ask what sort of private sins a man might need to take care of in Goodneighbor.

But the cuffs… well, Nate knew he ought to feel bad about the cuffs. They were stupid. A risk on top of a ton of other risks, none of which he wanted to explain to anyone. Ever. Nate was confident that if things turned nasty (well, nastier than he wanted them to be) he could defend himself even hopped up on drugs and naked from the waist down. He had the sacrificial blade wedged behind the headboard and a revolver stuffed beneath the mattress – this wasn’t some particularly creative suicide attempt. But the cuffs meant that he couldn’t just dive for cover. He had the keys, and an inhaler of jet on the nightstand, but if the next guy who came through the door carried a grudge and a gun, he might still end up sucking on a bullet rather than a dick.

On the other hand, the cuffs were what made this whole set-up perfect. He’d done the first couple of times without them, and he’d always felt he needed to act, to negotiate, to convince himself and his ‘customers’ that this was okay. Then that gunner conscript had shown up with the cuffs and a list of fucked up things he wanted to do to Nate while his girlfriend watched, and Nate had realized that it was perfect. Now putting them on was almost routine, like patting the mattress down for the worst critters, stashing his weapons and putting his clothes away in the half-broken dresser. This was the best room in the Rex, or so the manager said, and Nate was inclined to believe her. By Commonwealth standards, it tidy and clean. It had a persistent smell, but, well, Nate’s fortnightly activities probably added to that, so he couldn’t complain.

Trusting the manager was a necessary evil. Miss Hutchins was an accomplice in this. The first time had happened by accident – she’d given Nate the wrong key, and he ended up in this room, which was apparently frequented mainly by Marowski’s set of hookers. Nate had come up here, found the pleasant surprise of a well-equipped bathroom and just when he’d been finished washing up, some tipsy merc with caps to waste had stumbled in and said, “Hey, no girls tonight?”

Nate’s response hadn’t been too eloquent, but the merc had shrugged and leered at him in his underpants and said, “Yeah, whatever, you’re pretty enough for a whore.”

That was the point when Nate clued in to the misunderstanding, and also the point where he should have cleared it, but something clicked in his brain, some crossed wires misfiring, and now here he was, doing this on the regular. Miss Hutchins had never asked him why he wanted Room 34. She charged him extra, though, so he assumed she knew.

When he had prepared everything else, he settled on the bed and cuffed himself to the headboard. The cuffs got some interesting reactions. Some people just eyed the room nervously, as if expecting the pimp who handled him to jump out of the woodwork at any moment. A few asked questions, and their concern was both sweet and embarrassing, so rare to find in this strange new world, yet surprisingly common among the citizens of Goodneighbor. When something like that happened, Nate put on his most charming smile and told them that it was all for show – like the hat and the Silver Shroud costume draped over the chair in the corner, you know.

But there was always at least one asshole who saw the cuffs and grinned and took them as permission to fuck Nate up every which way they wanted.

There’d been one of those here the last time, and Nate had been limping for a week. Luckily it had been Cait with him that time, and Cait didn’t ask questions. Nick would have. The asshole customer had been a raider with a deathclaw tattooed on his neck and psycho trackmarks all over his arms, who’d wolf-whistled as he’d dropped his gun on the mattress.  
“If I had a pretty thing like you chained to a bed, I sure as hell wouldn’t share, baby.”

There was always a second when the sane bits of Nate’s brain almost took over. This was one of those. He very nearly kicked Deathclaw’s pipe pistol off the bed and dove for his own. But instead he’d dropped his gaze and said, “Payment up front, please.”

The please slipped out easily, a little extra touch to make himself seem all harmless and useable. And it worked like a charm. Deathclaw spit – on the floor, not on Nate – and growled, “Like hell. I’ll put you through your paces first, then we’ll talk caps.”

Deathclaw shot up right in front of Nate, a full dose of psycho, and then he’d gone up to the headboard and given the cuffs a rough tug to test their strength. “The real deal, eh?” he said, satisfied, and then he’d dealt Nate a casual backhanded slap. “Tried to run away?”

Nate didn’t deign to reply. He wasn’t here to chat. The raider rubbed himself through his pants, and watched Nate as he did so. “Nah, you wouldn’t run, would ya? Look at you, you’re fit. Big guy, not some strung up little bitch who gets beaten by a ghoul pimp. You can’t wait to get some of this. On your knees, then.”

Nate was still wearing a pair of briefs, and when he turned around and positioned himself on his knees and elbows, Deathclaw bunched them in his fist and pulled them down so they ended up just above Nate’s knees, restraining his movement further. Deathclaw didn’t wait to take them off all the way before he got on the bed behind Nate and undid his own pants. A hand was shoved between Nate’s legs, gun-calloused and ungentle, and Deathclaw said, “You oiled yourself up, you filthy little thing, huh? So let’s get right to it.”

Nate swallowed a little gasp as he felt the head of the raider’s cock shoved roughly against his ass. It was big, and as brutally hard as only psycho could make you. On the second try, Deathclaw found his mark. He fucked into Nate until his balls slapped against Nate’s on each thrust, and then he bent forward with a grunt and grabbed a fistful of Nate’s hair to pull back his head. “Come on, I want to hear you.”

The walls at the Rexford weren’t all that solid. If there were any other guests that night, they could probably hear Nate on the entire floor. His throat was raw when Deathclaw finally came in him with a triumphant yell. He pulled out, rubbing his cock against Nate’s tailbone, spilling the last spurt of cum on the small of Nate’s back, and then laughed. “Nothing like a Goodneighbor whore.”

Nate’s head dropped forward as the raider let go of him. He was ready to collapse on the bed and just coast on the high of being used, being strung up and unable to run, but a slap to the rump steadied him. “We’re not finished,” Deathclaw said. “You see, I brought a friend.”

There was no one else in the room, but for a moment, Nate wasn’t sure if maybe he had missed something, steps in the hallway, someone slipping in while he was drowning out the world in the rush of getting fucked. Then he felt it, the cold muzzle of the raider’s gun dragging up the inside of his thigh. Deathclaw bent over him and licked Nate’s ear with a hot, wet tongue. “She wants you to fuck yourself on her, now that you’re nice and ready.”

Nate should have told him where he could stick it, but now the image was in his head, cold grey steel against his flesh, being taken with a gun, like the Wasteland itself fucking him, and all he got out was a breathless, “No magazine.”

“Sure thing,” Deathclaw laughed. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The gun wasn’t the pipe pistol the guy had dropped on the bed. It was a big, fat thing, some sort of shotgun, and how messed up was it that Nate could tell as much just by trying to brace himself as it pressed against his hole? It was enormous, that was for sure, and he moaned in a mix of pain and frustration as the cold metal pushed and pushed and wouldn’t fit.

Then the gun went away, and Deathclaw’s fingers replaced it. Two went in easily, and it felt as if the raider was trying to scoop up the mess he’d left inside Nate, then he pushed in the a third and a fourth. No one had ever fucked him with their fist, but Nate knew it was going to happen now, and he wasn’t going to fight it. He dropped his head on his forearm, buried his face in the stained pillow and tried not to flinch. After that it became a blur, like taking jet, slow and intense. He could feel every knuckle going in, the whole damn fist, blunt and huge, stretching him past his limit, and his muscles seemed to just give up. As soon as Deathclaw felt the give, he settled on a pumping motion. The world dropped away, it zoomed in on just the solid center of the fist fucking Nate, and every concern, every thought left him in a rush of breath. He had no idea how long it lasted. When the raider pulled out and left him empty he sobbed in protest, no, he couldn’t deal without it, he needed it –

Deathclaw wiped his hand on the back Nate’s thighs. “Come on. We want to hear it.”

The most coherent thing Nate could manage was a ragged, “Please.”

Then the cool metal was back. This time his body could offer no resistance. It went in, inch by cruel inch, too solid and too straight, and all Nate could do was take it. His legs and arms trembled, threatening to slip out from under him.

Deathclaw leaned over him again. He was still wearing most of his clothes, the leather brushed against Nate’s naked back, and then he reached around Nate and shoved something into his face. “Eat up, here’s your payment.”

Deathclaw opened his fist, and on his palm was something – mentats, or some other shit, Nate didn’t know. He ate out of the raider’s hand like a dog and swallowed the pills dry, and it was something that made him feel lighter than air and smaller than a bug. He wanted to spit it out again, but his body didn’t obey him anymore. It wasn’t his anymore, he was out of the game, no longer his responsibility.

“Show my friend a good time,” Deathclaw ordered and Nate’s body listened, like a puppet controlled by the raider’s voice. The weapon was held steady, and he fucked himself on the muzzle as best as he could, swaying on his knees, the cuffs pulled tight, Deathclaws voice a steady buzz behind him, telling him how dirty he looked, how good, how pretty with a gun up his perfect little ass. He got hard again, a persistent, painful throb, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to come, not without an order –

The click of the trigger was like a bucket of cold water when it came, jolting Nate out of his high and driving him up against the headboard. But the gun hadn’t been loaded. Deathclaw laughed himself sick, and then slapped Nate’s heaving flank.

“Damn, you earned your pay. We’ll be back, hell, maybe we’ll bring a few of our friends.”

A handful of caps was dropped in his lap, and Deathclaw left. Whatever he had given Nate remained in his system for hours afterwards. He kept slipping away from himself, seeing the room like a film, lying next to his own body as other people came in and used him. When he finally felt like himself again, he felt like a blank sheet, the way addictol left you too clean and too smooth on the inside. His body was a mess, but when he closed his eyes he could breathe. He locked the door, washed his face in the cold basin on the window sill, and went back to the bed to get an hour of perfect, undisturbed sleep before he returned to his duties – this was what he came for.

*

The thought of Deathclaw returning left a sick thrill of anticipation in Nate’s stomach, and made him hard every time he had thought about it in the two weeks since. A few times his nerves almost got the better of him. But he felt the draw of the Rex like an addict.  
Now that he was back in Room 34, waiting, ready, it was almost unbearable. When he finally heard boots coming up the stairs of the Rex it sent a shiver down his spine. He counted at least three people, maybe more, so maybe Deathclaw’s friends weren’t all made of metal and wood…

But the noisy group stopped outside and when the door opened, the person who came in was just about the last visitor Nate expected. It was the mayor himself, in full regalia, red coat and leather boots and tricorn hat and everything. The ghoul took in the room with one sweeping gaze, the way Nate would when he assessed a new situation, and then it settled on him, black and bright and inscrutable.

“Well, fuck me, if it isn’t the real deal,” Hancock rasped. “The Silver Shroud himself.”

“Mayor,” Nate said, his throat suddenly dry.

“I heard some rumors about a lookalike. Had a good laugh, but then I decided to do a little digging,” Hancock explained. “Never thought this is what I’d find.”

He didn’t seem angry, just amused, but you never could tell with the ghoul. The few times they’d talked to each other, Nate had never been sure whether the man would murder him or invite him to a drink.  
“I didn’t know you had rules against…”

“Prostitution? That what this is, then? I wasn’t aware you were hurting for caps. I’m a little hurt, you know. If I weren’t paying you enough, you shoulda said so.”  
Hancock was mocking him, or possibly teasing. He had swaggered over to the end of the bed, and put a bony hand on the iron frame, looking down at Nate with curled lips. “But that’s not what this is about, isn’t it – this is just a case of genuine old perversion. We don’t have rules against that in Goodneighbor, friend. We positively encourage it.”

“Then why are you here?”

Now that he knew he hadn’t inadvertently made an enemy of Hancock, Nate was irritated. He’d had a good thing going, and Hancock was intruding on it. His presence was so real, so big, that it was impossible to ignore or to fit into the little fantasy Nate had constructed for himself.

“I wanted to see this with my own eyes.”

“You have,” Nate said. “Congratulations.”

Hancock tilted his head slightly. “Why, you could really hurt a ghoul’s feelings like that, Shroud. Are you so eager to see me go? I take it you don’t do ghouls. Too bad, I can be an extremely generous tipper.”

“I – what?”

“Just kidding. You wouldn’t be the first smoothskin whore to draw the line at ghouls, but who can blame ya?” Hancock threw him a sloppy salute. “I’ll be along. Have fun, brother – always knew you’d fit right in with the freaks.”

Nate watched him turn and go and suddenly the world shifted a little and the dry sensation in Nate’s mouth became something else. “Mayor Hancock,” he called, as the ghoul turned the doorknob.

Hancock stopped. He turned again slowly, inscrutable again. “Yes?”

“I don’t… draw the line.”  
“Really,” Hancock said, and stepped back towards the bed. “No line? At all?” He glanced at the chair in the corner, the hat and the costume. “If I asked you to put those on and be the Silver Shroud?”

Nate threw his head back and exhaled a gusty little laugh. “The Shroud? Really? He strikes me as kind of a… G-Rated fellow.”

“What?”

“Sorry. Pre-War joke. You really want me to put on the costume?”

“Nah. I’m really not that complicated,” Hancock said. “This’ll do just fine.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that Nate could smell him – whiskey and mentats and a musty smell like the stacks at the library. “It’s fine if you’re having second thoughts,” he told Nate. “Before I was mayor, I was just a capless drifter with nowhere to go and too many chem cravings – used to do this myself. I had other talents, but sex was always an easy way to make some quick caps on the side. I know what it’s like when a john rubs you the wrong way.”

Somehow, it was easy to picture Hancock, lean and hungry, leaning against some alley corner and giving strangers come-hither stares. “I’m not having second thoughts,” Nate said. “Just… this is different. I know your… well, I don’t know your real name. But I know who you are.”

“That makes two of us, Shroud.”

Nate almost told him his name. The ghoul was a snake charmer, he could have pulled every secret from Nate had he tried. This was already more than Nate had ever confided about the inner workings of his perversions. 

“Here,” Hancock said mercifully, and reached inside his fancy coat. “I got a little something to get us in the mood. Daytripper – trust me, it’s the good stuff. Not like the cheap shit you keep filching from dead men.”

Nate eyed the syringe with a flutter of his heart. Then he gave a jerky nod. “Yes.”

Hancock took his sweet time with it. He put a hand on Nate’s leg, first, just his fingertips against Nate’s shin, trailing up to his knee. There was an unnatural heat behind his touch, and if Nate had been wearing his pip boy, he would have heard the rads tick away. “I miss having hair,” Hancock said. “Not just on my head. And skin. You have lovely skin, brother. Sure you want me anywhere near it?”

Nate shivered. The ghoul’s hand was ghosting up the inside of his thigh, and with a gentle pressure tipped it sideways. “So long as it doesn’t make you hungry,” Nate joked, breath coming short and fast. He was spreading his legs for the mayor of Goodneighbour, and for some reason he was making ghoul jokes. Maybe he was suicidal after all.

But the ghoul in question just chuckled low in his throat. “Heh. It does, but not like that.”

Hancock seemed to have found a spot he liked. He rubbed it in little circles, letting the heat of radiation seep into Nate’s skin, then slapped it, and finally picked up the syringe and plunged in the needle. The pain lasted only for a second, then it bloomed into flush golden heat like a mushroom cloud inside Nate’s veins. He floated back against the pillows, boneless and thrumming.

“Yeah,” Hancock said, stroking him again, “yeah, that’s it. You just let go and let me take care of you, brother.”

“Wow,” Nate breathed. “Wow, this is… must be really… expensive stuff.”

“About the right price for what I’m buying,” Hancock purred.

His hands got braver then, touching everywhere. The hollow of Nate’s throat, down his breastbone, raking along his ribs, drawing a path from Nate’s hipbone to his cock, but skirting it and cupping his balls instead. A finger stroked the soft, warm spot behind his balls, and Nate was ready for it, for anything, he wanted to spread himself wide open and just be along for the ride.

“I’ll do ya slow,” Hancock promised. “Slow and sweet. And then I got another little something for you that’ll get you right back to attention for the second round, hmm?”

“Sure,” Nate murmured. “You bought it, you call the shots.”

“Right. How about this, then – open up for me.” Hancock’s fingers on his lips, two of them, and Nate took them into his mouth, tasted and felt flesh without skin, no fingernails, oddly smooth and leathery at once, like the worn seats at his favorite diner before the war, and it was easy to suck, to let them slide back over his lips and then take them in again, getting them wet and sloppy before Hancock withdrew them altogether.

“Now put on a show, Shroud,” Hancock said, gripping Nate’s chin gently but firmly, “pretend like you enjoy it,” and there had been ghouls before, but none of them had kissed Nate. He wasn’t sure what it’d be like, whether the disgust that never came would finally awaken, but then rough, patchy lips were brushing against his and a tongue every bit as clever as he would have expected from Hancock claimed his mouth. They both came up breathless, and in Hancock’s case grinning, again.

“No line,” he said. “Good on you, brother.”

He moved down the bed, and Nate tried to follow, but the cuff pulled taut with a chink, keeping him where he was. Hancock slipped a hand underneath his right knee, lifted it up and bent it back slightly, and flicked his wet fingers against Nate’s hole. The mayor still hadn’t taken off any of his clothes or his hat, and Nate felt naked in a way that he hadn’t before as Hancock breached him in tiny, teasing increments. It might have looked as if Hancock was doing all the work, satisfying him, not taking anything for himself, but looks would have been deceiving. It was written bright and clear on the ghoul’s face that he was enjoying himself like a king.

He curled his fingers and found a spot inside that made Nate arch his back and close his eyes in pleasure. The grip on his leg grew suddenly tight, demanding. “Eyes open,” Hancock said.

Nate forced himself to concentrate and keep his gaze locked on Hancock, which wasn’t easy. The ghoul worked him slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, all the chems to buy himself as much time as he wanted, and Nate was already rock-hard and leaking, moments from coming without even touching his dick. All he wanted was to crawl away and catch his breath or lie back and let pleasure rock through him until he found his release, but he couldn’t do either (he could, of course. He always could reach for the keys, for his gun, for his blade, put a stop to this and leave town, hell, he could probably just tell Hancock to stop – but then he’d never have this again.)

So he kept his eyes open as Hancock kept him on the brink. It was clear the ghoul was doing it on purpose, edging him along, that he enjoyed watching Nate gasp and squirm on his fingers.

“I’m thinking about buying out the competition,” Hancock mused. “It has its pros and cons. On the upside, I get to have you whenever you’re in town, and I don’t have to worry whether you’ll end up feeding the radroaches.”

“I didn’t – know – you cared.”

“Are ya kidding me? You’re the most fun thing that’s happened to this town since… well, since me, I suppose. Yeah, like that, brother. Breathe. We’ve got time.”

“And the – ah! - the downside?”

“I guess I’d be depriving my citizens of the sweetest piece of ass in the Commonwealth,” Hancock said. “And you don’t want to go steady, do you?”

Nate bit his lip and shook his head. He was trying to get more, to push himself further onto Hancock’s fingers. He remembered what the raider’s fisted hand had felt like – what he wouldn’t give for that now. The daytripper was still glowing under his skin, making him nice and loose and aching to be filled, but Hancock seemed more in the mood to chat.

“No. You want it like this. Another secret identity. A space to unwind and be someone else. So, what say you to a little arrangement. You get to do this, but you do it on my terms. I vet your customers, keep it under wraps, see to it that you don’t get hurt.”

Nate had been chaining himself to this bed, but here was the mayor, offering to take over the reins, to handle Nate like some expensive shipment of drugs, and that was it, that was what Nate had been craving all along. Someone to hold the other end of that chain. It pulled a ragged moan from him and Hancock’s eyes danced with triumph. “Ah, you like that idea, don’t you? Maybe once in a while I’ll ask you to give a business partner a good time, ride a few deserving dicks – “

Nate’s head banged against the headboard as he came, teeth gritted and clenching on Hancock’s fingers. The orgasm blended with the daytripper into a halo so bright it could have outshone the flash as the bombs fell. Hancock soothed him through it with gentle touches and whispered encouragements. Before Nate could breathe properly again, he was being rearranged on the bed, rolled onto his side as Hancock squirmed in behind him. The ghoul kicked off his boots, then Nate could feel his fingers at the small of his back as he undid the flag that served him as belt and unlaced his pants. A bony, still-dressed leg pushed between Nate’s thighs. There was a bit of morbid curiosity about the bits of Hancock the ghoul was baring now, but the larger part of him just wanted to lie back and hang in for the ride.

With one hand, Hancock stroked himself, the other snaked around Nate’s head, touching his forehead and petting his hair as Hancock brought himself off. He wasn’t fucking Nate, only now and then he let the head of his cock rub between Nate’s cheeks, painting him with drops of cum, humming in appreciation when Nate rocked back to try and push himself onto his cock. “Good,” he said, his face buried in Nate’s hair, “good, you’re doing great. There we go – “

Hours must have passed when Nate realized that he had stopped floating. He opened his eyes. The air was cooling on his skin, only the spots on his back where Hancock had come on him still burned and stung like nettles. He rolled over, and found that the bed was empty, but the room wasn’t. By the door stood a neighborhood watch ghoul in suit and tie, watching him stoically. Nate made an incoherent noise. 

“Awake, brother?” the ghoul asked.

Nate stared at him, and continued staring as the ghoul held up his hand. He only had three fingers. “How many?”

“Fuck me,” Nate cursed.

“Sorry, got strict orders not to. How many fingers?”

Nate said another rude thing, and groped for the keys to the cuffs, only to find that someone had already uncuffed him and left a little package under the keys. A box of orange mentats, the fine stuff, and a note that said: 4 Liberties Taken while U were out of it

Nate dropped it, and pulled out his blade instead. “If you want to keep your remaining fingers, get out. And tell your boss that if he brags about this, our deal is off.”

The ghoul nodded, as if ticking a box on a mental list. “So the deal is on. Message received. Have a nice one, brother.”

What had he got himself into? Nate wondered as the watch ghoul left. How was this going to work? Was he supposed to go to Hancock the next time he was in town? Would Hancock put him up here, or at the State House? Thinking through the suddenly very real logistics of this drove a flush to his face and made his cock twitch. 

All in all Nate was still in good shape. He wasn’t sure what liberties Hancock had taken, but Nick didn’t get too suspicious on the way back to Sanctuary. It was only there, while washing himself in front of the half-blind mirror in his shack, that Nate figured it out. The spot on the small of his back that itched wasn’t just a radiation burn. Someone had given him a tattoo, small but expertly done, with ink that glowed a little in the dark – a ghoulish skull, and the crossbones beneath it in the shape of syringes.


End file.
